The Heritage of the Desert: A Novel

by Zane Grey

shyness.

  "Because he'll be terribly angry."

  "Angry--I don't understand. Why angry?"

  The girl did not answer, and looked so forlorn that Hare attempted to

  take her in his arms. She resisted and broke from him.

  "You must never--never do that again."

  Hare drew back sharply.

  "Why not? What's wrong? You must tell me, Mescal."

  "I remembered." She hung her head.

  "Remembered--what?"

  "I am pledged to marry Father Naab's eldest son."

  For a moment Hare did not understand. He stared at her unbelievingly.

  "What did you say?" he asked, slowly.

  Mescal repeated her words in a whisper.

  "But--but Mescal--I love you. You let me kiss you," said Hare stupidly,

  as if he did not grasp her meaning. "You let me kiss you," he repeated.

  "Oh, Jack, I forgot," she wailed. "It was so new, so strange, to have

  you up here. It was like a kind of dream. And after--after you kissed me

  I--I found out--"

  "What, Mescal?"

  Her silence answered him.

  "But, Mescal, if you really love me you can't marry any one else," said

  Hare. It was the simple persistence of a simple swain.

  "Oh, you don't know, you don't know. It's impossible!"

  "Impossible!" Hare's anger flared up. "You let me believe I had won you.

  What kind of a girl are you? You were not true. Your actions were lies."

  "Not lies," she faltered, and turned her face from him.

  With no gentle hand he grasped her arm and forced her to look at him.

  But the misery in her eyes overcame him, and he roughly threw his arms

  around her and held her close.

  "It can't be a lie. You do care for me--love me. Look at me." He drew

  her head back from his breast. Her face was pale and drawn; her eyes

  closed tight, with tears forcing a way out under the long lashes; her

  lips were parted. He bowed to their sweet nearness; he kissed them again

  and again, while the shade of the cedars seemed to whirl about him. "I

  love you, Mescal. You are mine--I will have you--I will keep you--I will

  not let him have you!"

  She vibrated to that like a keen strung wire under a strong touch. All

  in a flash the trembling, shame-stricken girl was transformed. She

  leaned back in his arms, supple, pliant with quivering life, and for the

  first time gave him wide-open level eyes, in which there were now no

  tears, no shyness, no fear, but a dark smouldering fire.

  "You do love me, Mescal?"

  "I--I couldn't help it."

  There was a pause, tense with feeling.

  "Mescal, tell me--about your being pledged," he said, at last.

  "I gave him my promise because there was nothing else to do. I was

  pledged to--to him in the church at White Sage. It can't be changed.

  I've got to marry--Father Naab's eldest son."

  "Eldest son?" echoed Jack, suddenly mindful of the implication. "Why!

  that's Snap Naab. Ah! I begin to see light. That--Mescal--"

  "I hate him."

  "You hate him and you're pledged to marry him!... God! Mescal, I'd

  utterly forgotten Snap Naab already has a wife."

  "You've also forgotten that we're Mormons."

  "Are you a Mormon?" he queried bluntly.

  "I've been raised as one."

  "That's not an answer. Are you one? Do you believe any man under God's

  sky ought to have more than one wife at a time?"

  "No. But I've been taught that it gave woman greater glory in heaven.

  There have been men here before you, men who talked to me, and I doubted

  before I ever saw you. And afterward--I knew."

  "Would not Father Naab release you?"

  "Release me? Why, he would have taken me as a wife for himself but for

  Mother Mary. She hates me. So he pledged me to Snap."

  "Does August Naab love you?"

  "Love me? No. Not in the way you mean--perhaps as a daughter. But

  Mormons teach duty to church first, and say such love comes--to the

  wives--afterward. But it doesn't--not in the women I've seen. There's

  Mother Ruth--her heart is broken. She loves me, and I can tell."

  "When was this--this marriage to be?"

  "I don't know. Father Naab promised me to his son when he came home from

  the Navajo range. It would be soon if they found out that you and I--

  Jack, Snap Naab would kill you!"

  The sudden thought startled the girl. Her eyes betrayed her terror.

  "I mightn't be so easy to kill," said Hare, darkly. The words came

  unbidden, his first answer to the wild influences about him. "Mescal,

  I'm sorry--maybe I've brought you unhappiness."

  "No. No. To be with you has been like sitting there on the rim watching

  the desert, the greatest happiness I have ever known. I used to love to

  be with the children, but Mother Mary forbade. When I am down there,

  which is seldom, I'm not allowed to play with the children any more."

  "What can I do?" asked Hare, passionately.

  "Don't speak to Father Naab. Don't let him guess. Don't leave me here

  alone," she answered low. It was not the Navajo speaking in her now.

  Love had sounded depths hitherto unplumbed; a quick, soft impulsiveness

  made the contrast sharp and vivid.

  "How can I help but leave you if he wants me on the cattle ranges?"

  "I don't know. You must think. He has been so pleased with what you've

  done. He's had Mormons up here, and two men not of his Church, and they

  did nothing. You've been ill, besides you're different. He will keep me

  with the sheep as long as he can, for two reasons--because I drive them

  best, he says, and because Snap Naab's wife must be persuaded to welcome

  me in her home."

  "I'll stay, if I have to get a relapse and go down on my back again,"

  declared Jack. "I hate to deceive him, but Mescal, pledged or not--I

  love you, and I won't give up hope."

  Her hands flew to her face again and tried to hide the dark blush.

  "Mescal, there's one question I wish you'd answer. Does August Naab

  think he'll make a Mormon of me? Is that the secret of his wonderful

  kindness?"

  "Of course he believes he'll make a Mormon of you. That's his religion.

  He's felt that way over all the strangers who ever came out here. But

  he'd be the same to them without his hopes. I don't know the secret of

  his kindness, but I think he loves everybody and everything. And Jack,

  he's so good. I owe him all my life. He would not let the Navajos take

  me; he raised me, kept me, taught me. I can't break my promise to him.

  He's been a father to me, and I love him."

  "I think I love him, too," replied Hare, simply.

  With an effort he left her at last and mounted the grassy slope and

  climbed high up among the tottering yellow crags; and there he battled

  with himself. Whatever the charm of Mescal's surrender, and the

  insistence of his love, stern hammer-strokes of fairness, duty, honor,

  beat into his brain his debt to the man who had saved him. It was a

  long-drawn-out battle not to be won merely by saying right was right. He

  loved Mescal, she loved him; and something born in him with his new

  health, with the breath of this sage and juniper forest, with the sight

  of purple canyons and silent beckoning desert, made him fiercely

  tena
cious of all that life had come to mean for him. He could not give

  her up--and yet--

  Twilight forced Hare from his lofty retreat, and he trod his way

  campward, weary and jaded, but victorious over himself. He thought he

  had renounced his hope of Mescal; he returned with